


No Holds Barred

by Twyd



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Banter, Bruises, Developing Relationship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Muteness, Organized Crime, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Recovery, Rescue, Sex, Slash, Strangulation, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Violence, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twyd/pseuds/Twyd
Summary: “It’d be a one off job,” Tom is saying. “Not your typical security gig, but, it won’t take long and it pays really well.”





	No Holds Barred

“It’d be a one off job,” Tom is saying. “Not your typical security gig, but, it won’t take long and it pays really well.”

“I’m not killing anyone,” Shizuo says at once. Even without asking for details, it sounds too good to be true.

“Actually, it’d be the opposite.”

Shizuo frowns at his friend.

“You’d be _saving_ someone.”

Tom explains. Follow the lead they’d been given, get the injured person - or the body - out, and that was it.

“No-one else should be there to cause any problems,” Tom continues. “But they want to send you just in case there is someone lurking around. The priority is to get the victim out. No holds barred approach if anyone gets in your way. And don’t worry about damages or anything like that. Get in and get out as fast as you can.”

He gives Shizuo a moment to absorb this.

“There’s just one downside.”

“Of course there is.”

“They need an answer, like, now, while the building’s clear. And because whoever’s in there needs help urgently. They have other people waiting if you can’t do it.”

Shizuo frowns. He doesn’t like this, any of it, but the fact that someone’s hurt, possibly dying, sways him. He’d help someone in those circumstances anyway, so he might as well get paid for it. Right? And it would be good to use his strength to actually save someone instead of breaking something, even if the someone was probably a drug lord or some Yakuza Head’s son.

“But, if they’re injured,” Shizuo hedges even so. “What if it’s like spinal injuries, or something, and I can’t move him?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about anything like that,” Tom says. He bites his lip for a moment. “Actually, I got the impression they’re likely already dead.”

Shizuo says nothing.

“You have to think about it carefully, Shizuo. Whatever happens, it’s going to be pretty traumatic. It’s the kind of thing cops have years of training for.”

He knows this. And yet, in his heart, he knows he’s going. He shakes his head, knowing he’ll balk if he thinks on it much longer.

“I’ll do it."

* * *

 

He gets to the address they give him without much surprise - an old, old building on the outskirts of Ikebukuro. No-one in sight for at least a mile. He feels a sick sense of dread before he’s even inside the building, almost considers turning back.

 _In and out, job done_ , he tells himself.

He kicks in the door.

The smell makes him nauseous. Like an old meat factory with its windows sealed, or something. _Like someone fucking died in here_. He growls at himself in annoyance for thinking this. _Get in, get out, don't think._

Rats scatter as he steps in the building, making him flinch. Maybe he can get them to cover a fucking tetanus shot as well as his fee. He fumbles for his flashlight and switches it on. He appears to be in an old, empty hallway, furniture-less and light-less. It’s freezing, although the afternoon sun is shining outside. Something in one of the rooms is dripping.

Again, he wants to turn and run, but the knowledge that someone was alone in here, possibly dying, spurs him on. Asian male, slight build, late 20s, about 5’11. Not that he needs a description. Shizuo’s not leaving behind _anyone_ he finds in this hole unless they directly try to kill him.

On some level, part of him feel he deserves this, anyway. All the damage he’s caused, the fights he’s had with over half the people he’s met, always over something stupid and pointless. He deserves to be put through this.

The thought of meaningless violence turns his mind to Izaya, which is odd - he hasn’t thought of the flea in a long time. He wonders distantly if Izaya had had anything to do with this, and immediately brushes the thought off. Izaya is wreaking havoc elsewhere. He’s not Shizuo’s problem anymore.

Shizuo tries to focus his thoughts as he looks through the rooms. They are all vast, messy, and it would be easy for his torchlight to miss someone in midst of all the debris.

When he does find them, his torch gliding over and then swinging back to a pair of legs, he almost misses them for this very reason. It is too dark for Shizuo to get a good look at the damage, but he sees blood and lots of it. The smell is just as bad, and he can hear rats scampering in the background. He wants to throw up.

“Oh, God.”

The man twitches at his voice and at the light, lifting his head groggily. Shizuo holds the torch to one side so as not to blind him. It rocks up and down as his hand shakes.

“You’re OK,” he hears himself saying. He crouches until he’s beside the other man. “It’s OK, I’m going to help you.”

He gets his arms round the other man and awkwardly draws him to his chest. The man is too light for his height and breathing too shallowly to be normal. Shizuo struggles to steady the torch. Even without traipsing through all the other rooms, it seems to take him twice as long to get out than it took to get in.

He keeps murmuring reassurances to the other man, convinced he will be dead before they make it out due to Shizuo’s slowness. His legs nearly sag with relief when he sees the daylight at the end of the hallway.

“Oh, thank God,” he says out loud. “You’re gonna be OK,” he tells the other man. But even these last few steps seem to take forever, like in a horror film or a funhouse. “You’re gonna be fine, we’re getting out of here right now... “

His voice trails off as the sunlight hits the other man’s face. He squints for a moment, thinking he must be seeing things, and wait for the other man’s features to rearrange themselves under the blood.

They don’t.

It's Izaya.

Izaya with so much bruising on his throat that his windpipe must surely be crushed, Izaya with blood and dirt and sweat all over him, half conscious and half dead.

“Izaya.”

Shizuo lets himself down to his knees, cupping the informant’s head when it lolls back. Half of him expects the red eyes to snap open, laughing into his own.

_Got you, Shizu-chan!_

But he doesn’t move. He is in no condition to move.

“Fuck, Izaya. Jesus Christ.”

Izaya in this state. Izaya is dying.

The thought steels him back to life. He gathers Izaya to his chest again and staggers back to his feet.

* * *

 

 

It is only once he has banged on Shinra’s door, waiting for the doctor to answer, that he realises what he’s done: some old habit, some dead brain circuit, has brought him here, instead of to the location they had requested. Not that it matters. The brief that morning felt like years ago. They could pay Shinra out of Shizuo's fee if they have a problem with it.

His mind blanks once Shinra opens the door, drooping with relief that he has got Izaya help while he can still feel him breathing.

“Help him,” he says, when the usually unruffable doctor, seeing a sweat-drenched Shizuo and a hardly recognisable Izaya in his arms, doesn’t move. “Help him, please.”

* * *

 

 

He calls Tom while Shinra sees to Izaya. There is apparently a lot of back and forth with the client following this. As if he cares.

“Oh, Jesus,” Tom says when he finally comes over and sees the state Shizuo’s in, the amount of blood on his clothes. “Oh fuck, Shizuo, look at you.”

Shizuo takes no notice. He sits back on the coach with his hands between his knees, where he’d been for the past hour. Shinra hadn’t been out once in this time.

“He’s going to die,” Shizuo says.

“Shinra said that?”

“He didn’t need to.”

He’s still shaking. He doesn’t even notice until Tom puts a hand on his shoulder.

“If Shinra’s been in there all this time, he must be doing something. He can't be dying”

Shizuo says nothing at first.

“You didn’t see him.”

They sit and wait for Shinra.

“I’m so sorry,” Tom says after a while. “I had no idea it was Izaya. I had no idea it would be like this.”

Shizuo doesn’t answer him.

Shinra stays in there with Izaya for another hour. Their heads jerk up in unison when he returns.

Shinra’s eyes are creased, tired, his forehead flushed and damp, but he offers them a weak smile.

“He’s stable. No internal bleeding, no broken bones, even. Just external injuries, respiratory problems because of his throat. A blood infection from being down there so long. But,” he says, when they just look blank. “He should be fine. Good job, Shizuo.”

Shizuo can barely take it in. He’d been so convinced Izaya was going to die.

“He’s - awake?”

“He was,” Shinra says, changing out of his bloody lab-coat. “I just gave him something to help him sleep. He's fine, Shizuo. I tested his reflexes. He’s, you know, all there.”

This doesn’t reassure Shizuo much. He wishes he’d gone in there with them. Just seeing Izaya respond to a light in his eyes, or squeezing Shinra’s fingers, would have been enough.

“Can I see him?” he blurts.

“There’s nothing to see.” Shinra gives him a sympathetic smile. “He’s asleep. He’ll be asleep for a good while.”

Tom, who’d discreetly dropped back to answer his phone, comes back to Shizuo’s side now.

“That’s a relief,” he says. His phone keeps buzzing, and he sighs. “When you’ve got a minute,” he says, lowering his voice. “Not now, obviously, but when you’re up to it, the client would like a word with you.”

“With me?” Shizuo stares at him. “If they’re that fucking upset about me bringing him here instead of- “

“No, no, they’re fine with that,” Tom says hastily. “It’s just to thank you. They’re very relieved Izaya’s safe.” He pauses. “I think there’s also been a bit of a mix up. They didn’t think you’d be so - upset.”

Shizuo says nothing. What can he say?

“They might tell you something about what happened to him as well,” Tom offers. “At the moment, I know as much as you.”

“All right,” he says warily. “Who is it anyway, anyone I’ve heard of.”

“It’s Shiki-san.”

Shizuo frowns.

He has heard of Shiki-san. Everyone has. Izaya had worked quite closely with him, if memory served.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tom urges. “There’s nothing more you can do.”

* * *

 

 When he can’t sleep that night, before it gets too late, Shizuo figures he may as well call Shiki-san. These bastards were all nocturnal anyway.

“Heiwajima-san,” he says on answering the phone, and Shizuo feels an instant spike of dislike at the other man’s voice. It is too smooth, too fake. Shizuo wonders, vaguely, if Izaya had modelled any of his mannerisms and bullshit on this man. It would explain a lot. Shizuo has to struggle to keep in mind that the man on the phone is his ally, and not his enemy. “How are you feeling?” he asks now.

“Fine,” Shizuo growls.

“I’m glad,” he says, ignoring his tone. “I’m also glad Orihara-san was recovered so quickly. I’ve spoken to your doctor friend. It is nowhere near as bad as we feared.”

Shizuo says nothing, but he takes out a box of matches and starts snapping them one by one. _You didn’t see him_.

“He can’t talk,” Shizuo blurts. "Shinra said. His throat- "

“Yes,” Shiki says politely, as if Shizuo has brought up something meaningless and irrelevant. “It’s very sad.” He continues then as if Shizuo had never spoken. “I’d like to thank you personally for your services,” he says. “Orihara-san would surely be dead without your help.”

Shizuo breaks another match before replying.

“Why the hell did you send me when you know I’m - I was his worst enemy? How did you know I wouldn’t just leave him there, or finish him off for good?”

“We’ve been waiting for an opportunity to recover Orihara for some time,” Shiki says. “Plenty of time to do a full background check on you. As far as we could see, you’ve never harmed anyone when unprovoked, let alone someone injured and defenceless.”

This doesn’t wash with Shizuo. Someone had looked, extensively, into his background, into all that destruction and violence, and they still decided to send him?

“You sure you’re actually on Izaya’s side?”

He says this as a provocation, but feels a stab of alarm when he realises it could be true. He doesn’t know anything about this man or what happened to Izaya.

“I’m actually the middle man,” Shiki says now, sounding bored. “I like Izaya, but it was someone else who was so desperate to save him.”

Shizuo frowns, sensing things about to get complicated.

“Well - who? Or can you not tell me that either?”

“I can tell you,” he chuckles. “The man has been far too frantic to protect his own interests. His name is Kine.”

Shizuo waits. The name means nothing to him at first, but then a distant face and memory comes back to him. Kine. That creepy guy who used to watch him and Izaya fight, who got Izaya into all this bullshit in the first place.

“He wanted me to handle it as he lacked the resources and a clear head,” Shiki says. “As you do, when something terrible happens to someone you care about a great deal.”

Shizuo says nothing.

“If it had been up to Kine, we would have gone in months ago with all guns blazing, and Orihara would have almost certainly been killed.”

Out of matches, Shizuo crushes the box. He doesn’t understand why _something_  couldn’t have been done ‘months ago,’ if this was how long Izaya had been in there, which it clearly was, but, it is organised crime, it is political and complicated, and no-one ever wanted to get their hands dirty.

“Do you know who did it?” Shizuo asks now.

“We do,” he says. “We’ve known for some time, and now we have Orihara safe, we have a clear run of it. I doubt you’ll see anything on the news, I prefer to avoid all that, but if you know the right people...you might want to ask your friend Tanaka to keep his ear to the ground.”

Shizuo bristles at the implication of this, that his friend has anything to do with these scumbags, even if it is sort of, technically true. But, he bites his tongue. He is grudgingly grateful to the other man for being so candid with him.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “For telling me all that. I would have gone out of my mind otherwise.”

“That’s quite all right.” He pauses. “I’ll be honest with you, I was impressed that you acted so efficiently, and that you were so moved, even after everything he’s done to you. You can’t exactly get your picture in the paper with our kind of work, but you’ve done a good thing, Heijawima-san. It may not mean much coming from me, but it’s true.”

Shizuo grunts.

When Shiki’s gone, he tries, and fails, to sleep.

* * *

 

 

Tom tells him to take a few days off and relax. Shizuo takes them, but he doesn’t relax. He _tries_. He spends a lot of time in the park with Celty, goes for ice-cream with Kasuka, lounges in the sun when he's by himself, but he still doesn’t sleep more than 3 or 4 hours per night. Headaches plague him. He buys stronger sunglasses, takes paracetamol, and the headaches dull but they never go away completely.

He nags Shinra, and Celty when Shinra is less forthcoming, for news about Izaya. He’s convinced, by some bizarre, irrational law of the universe, that once Izaya’s all right, he will be too. But, the last he’d heard of Izaya was that he’s on a feeding drip and that he still couldn’t talk, so, if this is true, they both had a long way to go.

When Shizuo can’t face it any more, he makes an appointment with Shinra about the headaches. At the very least, the doctor should be able to give him some sleeping pills. Tom hadn’t brought it up yet, but Shizuo knows there’s not much more paid leave he can get out of them.

He doesn’t expect for a minute to see Izaya. He thinks he can maybe peak round the bedroom door when no-one is looking, but there is no need - Izaya is sitting up at the kitchen table. He’s shaved and had a haircut; he is in a hoodie that looks like it might be Shinra’s; he's worn out, pale, underweight, eyes bored and hurting. His throat is still frightening to look at, even with most of it covered by the hoodie. He lifts his eyes to Shizuo’s, and they are so sad and tired it almost hurts to hold his gaze.

He gives Shizuo a sarcastic little wave.

Then he crosses both his hands over his throat and shakes his head.

_Can’t talk._

“I know.”

Izaya drops his hands. He picks up a notebook and holds it out for Shizuo to see what’s written on it, like a little kid.

_Thank you._

“Oh...that’s OK.” He doesn’t know what else to say. “One of your friends hired me to do it.”

He flips the page, revealing more of his neat Kanji.

_I know, but you didn’t have to do it._

Shizuo hears Shinra moving around behind them, wishes he would hurry up. After days of itching to see Izaya, now the informant is finally in front of him, it’s too much. His eyes are so dead and sad, Shizuo almost wishes he hadn’t seen him at all.

“How are you doing?” he says, to fill the silence.

Rather disturbingly, Izaya turns the page to another pre-written response.

_I’m OK, getting better. Thanks._

He makes a so-so gesture with his hand, misunderstanding the reason for Shizuo’s stare.

“You psychic now or what?”

Izaya smiles and actually writes something for the first time.

_You haven’t changed much._

For some reason, this makes something inside Shizuo sink, even though he’s pretty sure Izaya hadn’t said it to get at him.

No, he'll never change, he'll always be the predictable brute. 

Izaya lowers the notepad, looking puzzled. Shizuo can feel the informant’s eyes on him, his only way of initiating conversation short of waving his arms, but Shizuo doesn’t look up.

When Shinra comes back, he picks up his notebook and leaves them alone.

“All right?” Shinra asks quietly.

Shizuo nods, jerks to a stop when pain stabs his forehead. 

“He was all right with me,” he mutters.

“Yeah, he will be,” Shinra says. “He has much more to worry about than you, anyway.”

Shizuo doesn’t comment.

“So, these headaches,” Shinra prompts. “Are they constant, or do they come and go?”

“Constant, but the really bad pain comes and goes.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Here.” He massages his forehead and temples, tries to describe how he can feel his pulse in his brain, and how it hurts to even move his eyes.

Shinra feels his forehead, his temples, his jaw.

“I think it’s stress,” he says. “You’re really tense here, clenching your jaw.” He gestures to his own jaw bone. “You probably don’t even realise you’re doing it.”

Now Shinra’s drawn his attention to it, Shizuo realises he is clenching his back teeth, has no idea how long he’s been doing it for. He lets his jaw go slack.

Shinra starts digging around in his labcoat. The man’s like a walking drugstore.

“I’m pretty sure they’ll go away on their own, once you relax and get some more sleep,” he says. “But I’ll give you these for when it gets really bad. Just take one at a time, OK? And no more than two a day.”

“Can I take one now?”

Shinra goes to get him a glass of water.

Once he’s out of the way, Shizuo sees Izaya watching them from behind Shinra’s back, but he immediately drops his eyes once he sees Shizuo looking.

Shinra follows Shizuo's gaze when he comes back.

“It’s kind of weird, living with two mutes,” he confides. “They have this, like, silent communication that I can pick up on but not get involved in.”

Shizuo leans over slightly to look at Izaya and Celty now, side by side on the couch. He knows what Shinra means; he can sort of tell they are communicating even when they are in silence, with their backs turned to him. He’s surprised, frankly, that she’d accepted Izaya back so easily. He’d have to ask her about it.

Shinra pushes the glass at him, and he takes the pill. He’s not used to them, and it takes him a few goes to actually swallow it.

“But there’s no permanent damage?” he asks, nodding at Izaya.

“Shouldn’t be. It just takes time.”

Shizuo watches Izaya scribble something and wave it in Celty’s face, who takes it off him and hits him with it.

“Why doesn’t he use a phone or a PDA, like Celty?”

“He gets headaches too. It’s better for him to avoid screens.”

“Oh,” he says. He watches Izaya a little more. “He seems a little better,” he offers.

“Mm, good days and bad days. I think you coming here does him good. You know. Breaks up the routine.”

“Doesn’t anyone else come?”

“Kine, Shiki, those kind of guys. But I think they end up just stressing him out, even if they don’t mean to.”

Shizuo stays a little longer as his headache wanes to a distant throb, chewing the fat with Shinra and later Celty. His eyes keep sliding over to Izaya on the couch, but the informant doesn’t look his way again once.

* * *

 

He takes more time off work. Tom makes him. He is too shaky, too out of it. Tom tells him to just get a note from Shinra, and he won’t have to worry about getting paid.

Izaya is there again, of course, but Shizuo is too tired and blind with pain to care.

Izaya looks almost concerned at the sight of him, as if Shizuo is the one in major recovery mode. He hesitates, then writes something down and holds it up.

_Are you OK?_

“Headache,” he says. “I keep getting headaches.”

He closes his eyes, to ignore whether Izaya is smirking or sympathetic. When he opens them, Izaya is holding a notebook in front of his face, looking sympathetic.

 _Tarantulas._ It says.  _In your brain. Making webs and laying eggs._

"Thank you, that is so fucking funny," Shizuo hisses.  _I should have fucking left you there,_ he adds mentally, but doesn't have the heart to say it.

Izaya leaves them again once Shinra is ready.

The doctor spends longer examining him this time, but doesn’t find anything untoward.

“Have you considered seeing someone?”

It takes Shizuo a moment to understand this, thinking at first that Shinra means to go on a _date_ , as if sex will get it out of his system. And then the penny drops.

“You mean like a shrink?”

He says it louder than he intended, and hopes Izaya doesn’t hear.

“I think you’re carrying a lot of guilt about this whole thing, not to mention your last fight with him.” Shinra leans into Shizuo’s vision to block his view of Izaya. “I mean it, Shizuo. What happened to him had nothing to do with you. He’s in this situation because of his own life choices. Not because of his last fight with you, or your history, or anything like that.”

“I know that,” Shizuo mutters. “I just - I just wish he’d be all right, already.”

“He is all right.”

“He _isn’t_ ,” Shizuo insists, straining to keep his voice low. “Come on Shinra, you know him. He’s not all right, you can see it. He’s the one who needs a fucking shrink.”

“He’ll get one,” Shinra says patiently. “He needs time still. But, he is getting there. He’ll only be here for another week or two.”

Shizuo stares at him.

“Really? You’re letting him go, just like that?”

“Not by himself,” Shinra frowns, as if Shizuo is accusing him or something. “No, he’ll be with that Kine guy. They were pretty close anyway.”

Shizuo says nothing. He doesn't know what to think of this.

“Anyway,” the doctor continues, “Whether he’s better in a few weeks or a few years, you have to let it go, OK? For your health, if nothing else. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Shizuo doesn't argue, and they move on to other things. His head still doesn't feel right, but he tries to ignore it. A little later though, he gets too hot and the room starts to tilt. Shinra shouts something to Izaya, and the next thing he knows Shinra’s hands are on him, steadying him, and Izaya's pushing a glass of water in front of him. He stays there, hovering, as if Shinra may need something else.

Shizuo’s memory is fuzzy after that. He remembers them leading him to the sofa, which is where he wakes a little later. He can tell it’s been a while by the light in the room.

Shinra brings him some water, looking relieved. Celty is still out, Izaya nowhere to be seen. He sits with Shizuo while he comes round, but he looks distracted, frowning at his phone.

“I have to go out,” he says slowly.

“OK,” Shizuo says, easing himself into a sitting position. He feels ten times better after a good sleep. There is no trace of pain in his head at all. He watches Shinra move around and pack his bag, his shoulders tight with tension. “Do you want me to stay for Izaya?” he asks quietly.

Shinra turns back to him, eyes growing wide with relief.

“Is that OK? Celty’s meant to be back any minute, but still.”

“It’s fine. Is he sleeping?”

“Mm.” Shinra looks at Izaya’s bedroom door for a minute, biting his lip, as if he might change his mind. Then he shakes his head. “Look, I’m going to give you the number of another doctor who can be here in five minutes, OK? Just in case.”

“OK,” Shizuo says, taking it, but Shinra’s not done.

“Another thing. This is going to sound a bit weird, but don’t - don’t let him go out on his own, OK? Don’t even let him in the kitchen unless you can see what he’s doing. And if it seems like he’s spending too long in the bathroom, don’t be afraid to call out. Go in if he doesn’t answer. He knows all this.”

“OK,” Shizuo repeats, a little stunned. “In case he faints?”

“Yes,” Shinra says, after a significant pause. “In case he faints.”

Shinra needn’t have worried. Izaya doesn’t even emerge for the first hour he’s gone. When he does, he’s fluffy-haired and sleep-ridden. He gives Shizuo a little wave, and wanders past him into the kitchen.

Shizuo angles himself slightly on the couch, trying to watch Izaya without looking like he’s watching him.

The informant’s sleeve falls down as he reaches up for one of the cupboards, revealing a bandage on his left wrist. Shizuo stares at it, feeling a vague sense of unease. It could be anything, of course, but it occurs to him then that it may not be Izaya fainting that Shinra was so worried about, but something much more awful.

Izaya catches Shizuo looking at him and shakes a pack of Pocky at him in offering, misunderstanding his gaze.

Shizuo shakes his head.

Izaya goes to the fridge instead, digging around for something else.

He holds up a note when he's done.

_How are the tarantulas?_

"Yeah, fucking great. I think they finally decided to ship out."

Izaya gives him a thumbs up and goes back to the fridge.

Shizuo starts to relax again as Izaya pads back to his room. Izaya is surely the last person to think about suicide, whatever the circumstances. He’s getting better. And anyway, if he was really at risk, Shinra would have him locked up somewhere, not -

Shizuo yelps then and fires from his seat as something ice cold is pressed against his neck.

He turns to see Izaya just in front of his bedroom door, waggling a dripping bottle of water and smirking like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

“You fucking little prick,” Shizuo seethes, hand clapped to the back of his neck. “Do that again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Izaya shuts the door before he's finished, clearly pleased with himself.

Shizuo stops worrying about him, and calls him every name he can think of in his head instead.

* * *

 

Izaya breezes back in a little later, giving Shizuo his usual sarcastic little wave.

Shizuo grunts, still sore from his little stunt earlier. He casts a wary eye over Izaya for freezing or otherwise unpleasant objects, and Izaya waggles his hands at him to show they’re empty.

He hops onto the armchair and hauls an old laptop from the coffee table, firing it up. Shizuo casts a grudging eye over him. The sunlight falls on his hair through the window, making it shine almost silver. Shizuo can’t help the satisfaction he feels seeing the informant look a little healthier.

“You want to go out and get some air?” he offers.

Izaya writes something down without looking at him and tosses him the notebook.

_I’m not a dog._

_Fuck you,_ in other words.

“All right,” Shizuo growls, annoyed. He wonders if this antagonism are signs of the informant's returning health, or if he’s just getting sick of Shizuo coming round.

Izaya feels around absently for his notebook then, remembers he’s thrown it at Shizuo, who doesn’t help him out. He starts looking around for something else.

“Throw something else at me and you’re dead.”

Izaya smirks lazily, picking up the remote and takes aim mockingly, but he lets his arm drop before Shizuo can rile. He clears his throat.

“Where’s Shinra?”

Shizuo blinks at him. There’s a rasp in his voice, and it’s painfully low - he sounds like he can barely breathe, let alone talk.

“You’re talking.”

Izaya nods wearily, rubbing at his throat.

“Mm-hm. Where’s Shinra?”

“He had an urgent call.” Shizuo glances at the clock, aware that both he and Celty were meant to be back hours ago. “Do you need him?” He gives Izaya his notebook back, in case he prefers it, but he ignores it.

“No, I just wondered.”

He says this, but after a quarter of an hour or so, Shizuo notices he has started to shake and hold his forehead.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up with alarm, as Izaya’s face drains of colour. “Come here, lie down.”

He guides Izaya over to the couch, who grips his arm as if his life depends on it. It slackens however as he seems fade out of consciousness.

“When’d you last eat?” Shizuo demands.

Izaya groans without opening his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking start.”

Ignoring him, Shizuo shakes him off and goes to the fridge, gives it a cursory look over and comes back with some grapes.

“Here,” he says, helping Izaya sit up and lean on him. “Kasuka used to get like this. It’s when your sugar levels drop.”

Izaya groans again, attempts to push him away, but he does eat some when Shizuo doesn’t give up.

“Oh,” he rasps, after a minute. “You’re right, it’s helping.”

“Uh huh. Have some more.”

He shakes his head.

“It’s too sweet, it’s making my stomach queasy.”

“That’s because it’s fucking empty,” Shizuo growls with annoyance, but he relents and lets Izaya lie down again. The informant’s hand curls round his sleeve again, as if anchoring himself.

Shizuo hovers over him.

“Shinra gave me the number for another doctor. Do you want me to…?”

“No,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m fine, this just happens sometimes. It’s because I’m…” He gives up, apparently deeming the explanation too much effort.

Fortunately, Shinra comes back not long after. He looks over Izaya while Shizuo tells him what happened.

“Have you eaten?” Shinra demands roughly.

“I had some grapes.”

He looks put out when Shinra lays into him.

“ _He_ hasn’t eaten either,” Izaya says, glaring at Shizuo like it is all his fault. “You didn’t tell him off when he got light headed.”

Shinra raised his eyes at Shizuo, looking exasperated.

“You two,” he says, like this is one of their old, harmless fights, and it gives Shizuo an unexpected twinge of nostalgia.

He doesn’t realise how hungry he is until Shinra puts a plate of hot food in front of him. He feels miles better for it.

Izaya is less enthusiastic, going quiet again, but he looks better than before.

“Sorry I was so long,” Shinra says now. “Some guy went into shock during a basic procedure. It should have been relatively straight-forward. And I don’t know where Celty’s got to.”

“It’s OK,” Shizuo says. “I want a raise in my babysitting wage though.”

It’s a poor joke, and Izaya doesn’t respond other than to make a face at him.

“Are you staying the night?” Shinra asks him now.

It’s almost 11, and the food’s made him sleepy, content. He agrees.

“We have two spare rooms now,” Shinra says happily. “Now Celty has finally decided we can consummate our love.”

Shizuo groans, and can see by the slump in Izaya’s shoulder that his feelings are similar. He makes a big show out of taking out his ipod, putting on his headphones and upping the volume as Shinra goes on, and Shizuo experiences an unusual rush of warmth as he tries to suppress his laughter. It’s been a while since someone’s made him laugh.

* * *

 

By the time he’s cleaned up and showered and in bed, Shizuo’s no longer tired but filled with a new kind of energy. He’s better. Izaya is better, or at least getting better. Finally, he feels he can relax a little.

He shifts in bed, unable to sleep. He feels heat gathering in his groin, wanting his attention.

_Oh, yeah. Been a while since I did that._

He wills it to go away - _you’re in your friend’s house, God damn it -_ but has to give in when the need only becomes more urgent. He creeps to the bathroom and back with lotion and tissues, feeling like a pervert, but he can’t help himself. He needs this like burning.

Back in bed, he sighs with relief as he starts.

He’s so lost in his own movements that he almost thinks he’s imagined the door knock when it comes. He freezes, heart thudding. Then he sits up, arranging the sheets around him, stuffing the lotion and the tissues under the bed. He suddenly feels about 14 years old again.

“Shizuo?” Izaya’s little raspy voice calls through the door. “I heard you moving around. Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he croaks. He has to clear his own throat, held tight against his ministrations. He shifts uncomfortably as Izaya approaches his bed, convinced the informant will smell or sense something, but he seems oblivious.

“You can leave the light off,” he says now. “I just wanted to talk for a minute.”

“OK,” Shizuo says, relieved. His dick is slicked and still aching hard. He tries to ignore it and concentrate on Izaya, and on the fact that something is obviously up.

Izaya sits beside him on the bed. Shinra hasn’t had curtains fitted in here yet, so Shizuo can just about make out his expression from the streetlight. He does not look good.

“Did I wake you up?” Shizuo prompts, when Izaya doesn’t speak.

“No,” he sighs, dull-voiced. “I just - I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. I mean, you seem better now, so I don’t know when I’ll see you again. So, I just wanted to say it.”

“...it’s OK.” Shizuo puts a hand out in the darkness, immediately moves it up when he feels the bandage on Izaya’s arm. “Really, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Mm.” Izaya sits there not saying anything, leaning into Shizuo’s touch slightly - or maybe he’s just shifted his weight on the bed - and Shizuo hates himself as his cock twitches with interest. Hates himself even more as he realises that, as soon as Izaya’s gone, he’s going to have a twisted, needy fantasy where Izaya’s not sick or hurt or sad, and Shizuo can pull his clothes off and drag him into bed, guilt-free. Twisted, indeed.

“I’m sorry,” Izaya says again, and he sounds so tired that it brings Shizuo back to reality. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Izaya.”

Shizuo catches his arm when he tries to leave. Izaya stills obediently, waiting.

A distant part of Shizuo knows what’s about to happen, but he can’t probe it too closely or he’ll never go through with it. He sits up, and kisses Izaya as carefully as he can.

Izaya goes with it more more easily than he had expected; there is no tension in him, no shock or resistance at all. He draws both his legs up on to the bed, and Shizuo puts a hand down to help him, finding them bare, as he’s in only boxers and a shirt.

He lets Shizuo undress him and touch him without so much as a murmur, as if they do this all the time. Shizuo props himself back on the pillows, helping Izaya straddle him, and eases the informant on to him. Just like that.

Izaya closes his eyes and tilts his head back, trying to adjust, and Shizuo has to close his own eyes to keep himself under control, fighting the urge to fuck him senseless. After what feels like an age, Izaya begins to move, rocking into him almost painfully slow, and Shizuo stays still, letting him find his own rhythm; his breathing is still rasping, his bones protruding where they shouldn’t, and Shizuo is terrified of hurting him. Other than his pained breathing, the odd whimper or groan, Izaya is completely silent. His hands tighten on Shizuo’s shoulders for balance, moving faster, and Shizuo still doesn’t move, doesn’t need to, as the feel of him is enough. Izaya doesn’t seem to mind either, or even notice, as his movements have them both starting to shake.

“Izaya,” Shizuo gasps in warning, and Izaya just clings to him tighter as he lets go.

He tries to pull Izaya close as he comes undone, at the same time as the informant pulls away, arms taut against Shizuo’s shoulders and chest, and the next thing he knows Izaya is away from him and sitting between his legs, the rasp in his breathing more painful-sounding than ever.

Shizuo waits, breathing hard, wanting to kiss him again, but not wanting to pull him in when he’s still getting his breath.

“Izaya,” he says after a moment, reaching for him, when he doesn't lie back down. “You want to sleep here?”

He hears him swallow.

“No.” Shizuo’s heart falls as he says it. His voice is thick, like he’s holding back a sob. He shifts between Shizuo’s legs, and Shizuo can feel him pulling on his underwear. “Sorry,” he says, like an afterthought. Then the bed lifts with his weight and he is gone.

* * *

 

 Izaya sleeps late the next morning. 10am. Not late-late, but late for him. He hadn’t really slept.

He goes for a shower. He hadn’t bothered after last night, and his thighs are still sticky with Shizuo’s dried semen. He turns it over in his mind as he showered, feeling like it had happened to someone else, or in a dream.

_Shizuo fucked me._

And it had been nice, it had been good. He hadn’t expected it to feel that good again for a long time.

He doesn’t however inspect his feelings or the implications of them. That would be too much.

Once dressed, he goes back into the still-empty front room. Shizuo is still sleeping or gone, Shinra is with patients - Izaya can hear them murmuring - and Celty is never here anyway. He starts moving around to make tea, thinking nothing. Tries to find something in the cupboards he can stomach first thing in the morning.

He finds his mind drifting back to last night. It had been a comfort, it had blocked out everything for a little while. Izaya just wishes it would last: the memories and the pain are back, and today is going to be a bad one. He looks around blandly for something to distract himself. He frowns into the hallway, catching a glint of something.

He approaches the unit, pulling back a hastily thrown cloth to reveal a hand pistol and two knives. He stares at them, his heart pounding. Of course, Shinra often makes his more unsavoury patients leave their weapons in the hall.

A gun. Izaya stares at it so hard it swims, half expecting it to disappear before his eyes. He is afraid to touch it.

A gun. He wouldn’t have to worry about cutting himself deep enough or not jumping high enough or puking up an overdose if he had a gun. One bang, and it’s all gone.

He runs his fingers over it before picking it up properly. It is solid, heavy, metal, real. He checks it is loaded.

He looks guiltily towards Shinra and Shizuo’s respective doors. Part of him thinks he can go to them, that he can tell Shinra he needs help, or he can crawl back into bed with Shizuo and the feeling will go away, only it _won’t_ , and Izaya’s not sure he wants it to. It is the clearest way out.

But, Shinra had worked so hard to help him. Everyone had. And Shizuo...if Izaya offs himself the morning after sleeping with Shizuo, Shizuo will do some serious damage to himself, he knows it.

But even as he thinks all this, the gun has the pull on him of a spout in the desert, a warm bed in the early hours. The relief of it. So quick, so easy, and he won’t have to feel this way anymore. Bang.

He pockets the gun and heads for the door, easing it open and shut behind him. He doesn’t feel good about it, but he has to end this, he has to. He goes out on to the fire escape, knowing he’ll chicken out if he goes too far.

He nestles in a corner on the metal steps, the wind blowing in his hair, and closes his eyes, holding the gun to his head. He doesn’t touch the trigger, not yet. He’ll do it when he’s ready.

“Izaya?”

Izaya freezes without opening his eyes, knowing the wind is carrying Shizuo’s voice from Shinra’s balcony, and he's not as close as he sounds. He can tell from Shizuo’s tone that he knows the gun is gone, or just that something is wrong via sixth sense.

Shizuo calls his name again, and there is something so desperate and afraid in his voice that it’s unbearable.

“Go away,” Izaya whimpers, eyes screwed shut. He strokes his thumb over the trigger, wanting to do it. He wills Shizuo back inside. “Go away, go away.”

* * *

 

 

Shizuo curses and stalks back into the living room. He can hear Shinra’s patient getting more and more irate behind the door.

“I don’t care who you have staying here or what’s wrong with him. I want, my fucking, gun back. What kind of place are you running here?”

Something inside Shizuo snaps. Izaya could be dead and all this guy cared about was his fucking _gun_.

He storms into the room and slams the man against the wall.

“Shizuo,” Shinra pleads at once. “Shizuo, please.”

Shizuo takes no notice. He stares at the man he has by the throat, barely seeing him past his anger. Then the man begins to choke, making rasping sounds not unlike Izaya, and Shizuo lets him fall at once. He stars at the man choking at his feet.

“Get out of here,” he says.

He and Shinra stare at each other when he’s gone.

“We have to find him.”

Shinra’s already nodding.

“I already told Celty. He can’t be far. If we split up- “

A single shot rings out then.

Shizuo watches as Shinra freezes. Then his eyes grow wide with desperation, and he hurls himself out the door, in the direction of the sound.

Shizuo doesn’t move. He is completely numb. He sees Izaya crouched on the floor somewhere, gun in hand, his brains splattered all over the wall. He sees Izaya’s funeral, closed casket, because Izaya would have done it right at his temple or in his mouth, so he couldn’t be saved. Then he remembers how Izaya felt last night, Izaya laughing at him as he pressed the freezing water bottle against his neck, Izaya laughing at him and outrunning him for years and almost chokes on the pain.

The _bastard_. The selfish, heartless, evil, fucking flea bastard. He feels himself sink down the wall to the floor and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, feeling the cold draught from the hall where Shinra left the door open. He closes his eyes as sirens rise in the distance.

* * *

 

Shinra stands there on the metal grille, shaking and stiff with adrenalin. The blood pools around his shoes, but he is too numb to move. Beside him, Izaya is still pointing the gun at the man, although it is clear he will not be getting up.

“Is he dead?” Shinra asks, the most pointless question he has ever asked, because he is the doctor, Izaya is the nutcase, and the man is clearly bleeding to death, if he is not dead already. Not that Shinra would want to save him.

“I don’t know,” Izaya rasps.

Something about his voice snaps Shinra out of it.

“Izaya,” he says, as gently as he can. “Give me the gun.”

Izaya hands it over without a word. He takes a deliberate step back from the body, and another, and another, until his back hits the stairs. He sinks down until he is sitting on the metal steps. He shakes so hard they rattle.

“I called Kine and he didn’t answer the phone. He always answers the phone,” he rasps, like a little kid. “So I called Shiki.”

“This was him,” Shinra says now. It’s not a question.

Izaya is still staring at the body.

“I knew the face but not the name,” he says.

“Did he do anything to hurt you?” he asks. “Now, I mean.”

“He saw me.”

Shinra says nothing. He leans back to look in the corridor, but sees no-one. Everyone had obviously decided to lock their doors and pray.

Shiki makes it before the cops do, although the sirens sound much closer now.

“Oh, what a mess,” Shiki sighs, like it is the biggest inconvenience. “Oh well, at least it’s one job down. Are you all right, Orihara-san?”

He drops his hand to the back of Izaya’s neck. It is the only part of him Shiki is able to reach without bending down, and Izaya seems too out of it to notice, but Shinra still doesn’t like it. It is disturbingly master-pet like.

Izaya nods.

“It’s his own gun, isn’t it?” Shiki murmurs, almost to himself. Shinra hands it over to ihim without waiting to be asked. “But then, the distance is too great for it to be a suicide. Hm. Tell me, Orihara-san, have you ever had your fingerprints taken?”

“Once, for a Russian visa.”

“But not for the police? You’ve never been arrested?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

He thinks on this for a minute. Then he focuses on Shinra, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Take him inside.” He gestures vaguely to Izaya. “I’ll take care of this. I've had worse.”

Shiki is not the kind of man you argue with. Shinra puts his arms around Izaya’s waist and helps him up.

“You have got to get these people out of your life,” he hisses, as soon as they’re out of earshot.

Izaya says nothing.

“ _Shit_ ,” Shinra says then, stopping dead, as something occurs to him. “Shizuo.”

Izaya stiffens. “What about Shizuo?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what happened to him.”

He takes his phone out and dials as he drags Izaya along. No answer. He hopes for all their sakes that Shizuo is still in the apartment, and that he has not done anything stupid.

* * *

 

Shinra’s voice swims in the background, somewhere foggy and far away.

“Leave him _alone_ , Izaya.”

“I’m just waiting for him to wake up.”

Definitely dreaming. Definitely, finally fucked in the head. Shizuo opens his eyes, wants to close them again when he sees it is Izaya, only it can’t be, unless they are both dead and in hell.

“Are you all right?”

Shizuo almost summons enough energy to hit him then, because _of course_ he is not all right, and only someone as smart as Izaya would ask something so fucking stupid.

He closes his eyes, determined to shut Izaya out, but Izaya stays by his side for hours, holding his hand, when Shinra and Celty have gone to bed, and the building has long since fallen silent. Finally he gives up and casts Izaya a grudging look.

“Well?" he says harshly. "What happened, you miss or what?”

 Izaya swallows.

“I think I killed someone.”

 Shizuo stiffens. He takes his hand out of Izaya’s. Izaya’s eyes shine, but he doesn’t try to take it back.

“Who? What happened?”

Izaya just looks at him.

“Someone you know?”

He nods.

Shizuo begins to understand.

“Someone - who hurt you?”

Another nod.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says.

Shizuo puts an arm around him, the last of his anger breaking away.

“You were going to do it though, weren’t you?” he says tiredly. “Before.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It was nothing to do with last night or with you. I just, I couldn’t - I couldn’t stop myself.”

Shizuo reaches up to cup his cheek.

"You should have said," he says. "If it's that hard, if you're feeling that bad. You don't have to fake it."

"I don't fake it," he says, almost whimpering. "I'm trying."

 Shizuo sighs, strokes below the corner of his eye where his skin's hot with tears.

“Don’t do that to me again, Izaya.”

Izaya nods, closing his eyes.

Shizuo fingers the bandage around his wrist.

"Was this you too?"

"No," he sighs. "It's a sprain. You can ask Shinra."

Shizuo believes him, doesn't pursue it.

“Shinra says you’re really sick now,” Izaya mumbles now, into Shizuo’s hand. "He says we're killing each other."

Shizuo snorts. It was a little late in the day for that observation.

“I’m not,” he says tiredly. “I’m not anything. I was just fucking upset. Obviously.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. He picks up Shizuo’s free hand and holds his knuckles to his mouth. “I just want you to be all right.”

Shizuo sighs in exasperation. “That’s all I want for _you_ , you fucking flea bastard.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen with confusion, and Shizuo almost wonders if Shinra’s got him on something when he says, without a hint of irony, “You don’t hate me?”

“Izaya,” he says. “That is the most stupid fucking thing you’ve ever said. Seriously. I mean, just think about it.”

“Oh,” he says again. “Thank you.”

They sit in the dark not talking for some time. Izaya shifts to the other side of him so he can lean against the wall, clearly uncomfortable from sitting up for so long.

“So what happened?” Shizuo says now. “Did the police come?”

Izaya shakes his head.

“Shiki took care of it.”

Shizuo frowns.

“I hate that guy.”

“He’s all right,” Izaya rasps. “He’s good to me.”

“What about the other one?”

“Other one?”

“Kine. Is he your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?” he echoes, like he’s never heard the term before. “He’s more like my Father, one that’s actually around.” He shakes his head. “You know me, Shizu-chan. There are no boyfriends or girlfriends.”

 _Shizu-chan_. It had been a long time since he’d heard that. Shizuo wonders if Izaya’s even aware he said it now.

“But you’re going to stay with him,” he points out, not wanting to be distracted.

“I’m staying with Shinra,” he says. “It’s the same.” After a moment, he gives a throaty little laugh. "You're  _jealous_ ," he says.

"Fuck off," Shizuo says, too tired for anything more cutting. He tugs on Izaya's waist. "Lie down." 

 Izaya stiffens, and just like that Shizuo gets a little stab of deja vu.

_No. Sorry._

He knows he shouldn’t take it personally - there are probably plenty of reasons why Izaya doesn’t want to lie down with another person, and probably none of them have anything to do with him - but it still hurts.

But Izaya does lie down then, without warning, and presses into Shizuo’s side, as the tension in him slowly ebbs away. Within moments, he is asleep.

Shizuo sighs with content, pulling him closer, feeling the last of the tension leave his body. He unclenches his jaw.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmurs into Izaya’s hair.

Before long, he too is asleep.

* * *

* * *

“Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as grunt. It is far too early, and he is far too comfortable for whatever it is Izaya wants.

“Shizu-chan. Shizu-chan. _Shizu-chan_. This is your _enemy_ talking to you here. Wake up and pay attention to me, or something terrible is going to happen.”

Shizuo takes no notice. Izaya’s voice is almost back to normal now. Which is great, except for when he feels the need to use it in the early hours of the morning. Shizuo refuses to move.

And yelps with surprise and pain at the feeling of ice cold plastic against his cheek.

“Told you,” Izaya says, retrieving the bottle.

“You know what, I take it back,” Shizuo growls. It had only been a few weeks, but he knows Izaya will know what he’s talking about. “I do hate you. I hate you to the ends of the fucking world and back.”

Izaya grins like Shizuo is declaring the opposite.

“Good,” he says complacently. “Keep hating me. I like it.”

He trails a still-cold hand over Shizuo’s thigh, and Shizuo seizes it in his own.

“What do you _want_ , Izaya?”

“Shinra wanted me to wake you,” he answers. “He wants to check you over before he leaves before the day. And he’s already given me the all clear, so. We can go. Whenever you want.”

“Oh,” he says, waking up a little more. He feels a little guilty for snapping at him. He feels even more guilty towards Shinra, who, letting them both stay, had just about had it with them both and had even threatened to separate them like ‘a dog and bitch.’ Which Shizuo had personally thought was a little harsh, for Shinra, although Izaya had found it hilarious.

“Are you sure you’re all right with it?” Shizuo says now, as Izaya flops back down. “With it being me and not Kine?”

“Yes,” Izaya says, sounding sleepy himself now. “We’ve been through this.”

“OK.”

"How're the tarantulas?" He asks sleepily. "Are you sure you're all right going back to work so soon?"

"Do you have to call it that?" Shizuo grumbles. "I don't give your problems scary names."

Izaya just smiles without opening his eyes.

"They're fine," he says. "I'm fine."

"Good."

Now that he’s made sure Shizuo is awake, Izaya of course snuggles back down and goes to sleep himself, but Shizuo doesn’t mind.


End file.
